


Other Lives

by Bluestem



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magic, Rehabilitation, Rituals, Unconditional Love, some pretty damn intense emotionnnns, wonder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:18:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluestem/pseuds/Bluestem
Summary: In the midst of a magical ritual, a man returns from the dead. But is he himself? Will he remember the love of the one who sacrificed everything to bring him back?





	1. Birth

A scarlet flash of hellish lightning ripped through the little room, blinding and deafening all within. An acrid cloud rimmed with fire breached open upon the ceiling, a deathly scream let loose and wailed into silence, and then, with a hard thudding sound, the madness ceased as if it had never started.

Sounds rang in Asra’s ears, and his breath choked in him as the cloud cleared. He coughed, afterimages dancing like mirages in his stunned mind. He could not recall where he was, or what had been happening. Magic hung thick in the air, tickling in static waves across his skin and through his hair. He tried to speak, but he could only cough as he fell forwards across something hard.

Fingers reaching blindly through the mist clattered against something metallic, and it fell with a slosh that soaked his hand. The smell of Lapsang souchong wafted into his nostrils and immediately the mist cleared from his eyes with a sudden jolt of realization.

Spread before him was an ornately gilded banquet table, and slouched before golden platters heaped high with delicacies were seven figures, unmoving and seemingly asleep. Unbidden, Asra’s heart leapt into his throat, his pulse hammering in his ears. He could not remember the fullness of what had lead to this moment, but the magical signature in the air was his and he realized then what he had done.

He gasped and reeled, for there was a naked figure curled upon the ruined banquet in the mockery of a main dish, wet with the effluvium of birth. Asra scrambled across the platters, hands flying to his arms. Panic had him crying, for he could not believe in his heart that his love truly existed. _Is he alive?! Is he alive?!_

“Tytos! _Tytos!”_ He wept as gently he unculred him. He was limp, eyes closed and mouth parted, and the appearance of death shook through Asra until he could hardly breathe. He had left Tytos to die alone--was this his punishment then? To finally have him back, and to hold him in his arms once more, but only in death? “Tytos, please…”

A spasm shook through the other man’s body and then a ragged, choking gasp as breath filled lungs that had been ash for nearly a year. Tytos jerked, hunching away from Asra and onto his hands and knees as he retched up pale fluid from deep within. He panted, gasping, and his weakened body gave way beneath him. He collapsed back to the table, shivering.

Brown eyes opened, comprehending nothing but dim shadow and a reddish light. He could not name nor understand the objects that surrounded him, could not form words to voice his confusion--could not even understand the concept of confusion. All was new and strange, a world of sensation and sound. His chest moved, expanding, and the feeling of air entering his body was both frightening and pleasing. His chest contracted, and stunned, the exhalation ghosted from his nostrils. It was cold. He wanted to touch the coolness that bloomed about his nostrils and mouth, and the impulse left his mind, flowed through a leadened limb and lifted a hand that he did not comprehend as his.

The panic of Being sent his heart into a gallop, wide eyes darting about a space he could not understand. But then a new sound entered his ears.

“Tytos...it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s okay, it’s okay,”

The soothing sounds flowed like water, devoid of meaning and yet beyond meaning. The voice went to the heart of him and his breath came easier. Hands moved across his back, pulling him close, cradling him and he looked up into the source of the voice. Brown eyes met amethyst, and a world of peace and of safety wrapped about him. He stared. Nothing made sense. Nothing but those eyes. He watched them, hypnotized and calm, as if a glittering sea had flowed about him, carrying him and supporting him.

For a long time he simply stared as a newborn might, committing every detail of those eyes, that face, and that voice effortlessly to his new and expanding memory. And then his eyelids drooped, for the process of birth had left him mortally exhausted.

Asra stroked across his forehead, fingers soothing back through damp hair in joy and disbelief. The thought _I have to take him home_ went numbly through his mind, and only then did he wonder how he would accomplish such a thing, for Tytos was taller than him and in no state to walk. They were in the Palace, that much he knew, though he could not remember coming to it, or what he had been doing prior to this. A ritual, of course, but how it had been deigned and why it involved so many was beyond him. Names fell into place for some of the guests, as did relationships. There was Nadia, her lovely maroon hair spilled about her like blood across the tablecloth. There was Muriel, his best friend, lying face down and dangerously close to a knife; and there was Ilya, his unconscious hand still curled about the handle of his coffee mug.

 _Are they asleep?_ Asra gulped, holding Tytos protectively against him. “Hello?” He asked plaintively to the room. He felt ominously alone and exposed. There were no answering sounds, only a heaviness to the air, as if a storm had passed. He glanced back down at Tytos, as if to assure himself that he still lived; Tytos's eyes had nearly closed, and a hand curled upon his chest just over Asra’s heart. At that touch Asra’s skin lit up in a circular rune through Tytos’s fingers, like sunlight seen between dark branches. Asra knew what that rune meant; it was the sign of a bargain struck, a deal made in realms beyond those of flesh and blood, or the waking mind. Bile swam in his mouth, fingers tightening against Tytos’s back as he studied his friends anew.

 _What have I done?_ “Muriel?” He gasped. “Nadi? Ilya?” Tears filled his eyes.

Searching tendrils of magic went out from him and in response to his unspoken question, runes lit up upon each of them in turn; Nadia’s glowed upon her forehead like a third eye; Muriel’s shown dully beneath the deerskin that swathed his broad back; Ilya’s lit from his throat, over his Adam’s apple. After a moment’s shimmering brightness, each faded away like clouds over moonlight. _What did_ we _do?_

“Muriel!” He scooted towards the edge of the table and found that his knees had given out. “Muriel, wake up!”

His fear echoed into Tytos who absorbed it fully, having no emotional defenses of his own yet. A shaking breath left his lips.

“I’m sorry, Tytos.” Asra whispered into his hair and then he looked up, had nearly called Muriel’s name again when the gigantic man groaned and moved an arm as thick as a tree trunk to prop himself up. “Muriel!” Asra gasped.

Muriel blinked slowly, his lank dark hair hanging before tired eyes. “Did it...work?” He mumbled as if to himself.

“Muriel, are you alright?”

“Asra?” He sat up fully, clearly confused and dizzy. He studied the white-haired person sitting upon the table, cradling another to his chest. He pinched between his brows and shook his head as if ridding himself of biting flies. Slowly, he reopened his eyes and peered about. If he was as shaken as Asra, he did not show it on his stoic face. He remembered his friend. He remembered the ritual. He remembered the bastard that had forced them into this ritual of dark magic, though he thankfully seemed to have vanished. He inhaled and Asra’s familiar magic tickled about his nose--the other man had clearly unleashed a dangerous amount of power. Studying Asra’s tear-streaked face, his eyes slid next to the form clutched within in his arms. He cocked his head. It almost looked like…

He stiffened, a wary jolt crackling like electricity up his spine. “Asra...that’s Tytos.”

Asra's mouth worked, but he could find nothing to say.

“What did you _do?!”_ Muriel stood with a roar in his voice and superstitious anger flashing in his eyes, his chair falling backwards to the floor.

“I-I had to, Muriel, I had to,”

“Traveling to that depth-- _what did you give up?!”_

Asra choked, tears rolling down his cheeks as he stroked through Tytos’s hair. “M...my heart. Part of my heart.”

Pain cracked through Muriel’s anger, and his face crumpled. He hung his head. “Asra…”

“...I had to…”

“You don’t know what you’ve done to yourself!” He said in a voice of agony. “You trespassed in the deepest realm of spirit! That--that _thing_ might not even be _him!_ Nature doesn’t allow it, Asra! ”

Asra shook, dropping his nose into Tytos’s hair. He squeezed his eyes shut. “He is him...he _has to be._ ” He sniffed and met Muriel’s face.

Muriel closed his eyes in weary resignation and acceptance. “It’s done then.”

Another groan sounded, and Asra turned towards a strange, pale old man dressed in robes of black silk. Wiry grey hair curled from beneath a magistrate’s cap. He could not remember him, not yet; he knew only that he could not bear to be here in this room a second longer. The feeling of his own spent magic hanging in the air made him want to pass out.

“Muriel, please…I can’t carry him. I have to take him h-home.” His shining, plaintive eyes left Muriel no room for argument.

It was plain that Muriel did not want to touch Tytos; indeed, that he wanted nothing to do with this being pulled unnaturally from the realm of death. But in deference to long friendship and unable to stand seeing Asra in pain, he relented, scooping Tytos from the table as if he were no more than a toddler. Asra shrugged off his brightly colored wrap and handed it to Muriel, and it was draped over Tytos so that he would not have to be carried naked through Vesuvia. Asra stepped down to the floor and staggered, catching himself against a high-backed chair of cushioned scarlet. Muriel watched him carefully, a heavy brow arched.

“Are you alright?”

Asra nodded wordlessly. He stared at Nadia and Ilya, and his breath tightened in his chest. “What about them?”

Muriel turned away, unconcerned. “They’re breathing.”

“But...what if something went wrong? We can’t just leave them here.”

Muriel sighed. “I’ll come back later and make sure they’re alright.”

Gratitude welled like a spring in Asra so that he could hardly speak. “Th-thank you, Muriel.”

They left up a narrow stair that emptied out into a room reeking of fire and burned flesh. Asra coughed as greasy flakes of ash drifted through the air like snow. “What in the world?”

“We need to leave quickly.” Muriel growled, and without another word he strode past a charred, ruined bed and out into the hallway. In the distance, Asra could hear raucous laughter, feverishly paced music, and cheers. The sounds seemed utterly alien to his stunned mind. _The Masquerade,_ he realized dully. They squeezed past a throng of masked revelers as they descended the marble stairs that led to Lucio’s wing. Asra kept closely behind Muriel, following in the other man’s wake as he parted an easy path through the crowd, striding head and shoulders above everyone else.

“Looks like he had too much to drink, eh?” One reveler laughed upon seeing Tytos’s limp, half-naked body, and Asra bristled. In a matter of a few quick strides, Muriel had led them from the nexus of the crowd and out into the sparkling night. Asra reveled up at the moonless sky, at the stars glittering in a net of diamonds far above. Hope dared to flutter within his chest. _Tytos is okay. We’re going to be alright._

A shout went up from within the palace. “The Count! Something’s happened to Count Lucio!”

“Fire! A fire in the Count’s bedroom!”

“Guards! Guards, quick!”

Muriel shifted Tytos in his arms as he aimed towards the hedge maze and the dark topiaries and statues within. They disappeared within it just as the heavily shod boots of guards racing past met their ears. The shouts of the crowd were left far behind, and soon there was only the whisper of the wind through the leaves and the rasp of katydids. “There’s an old gate in here--it leads out into the woods.”

“I hope Nadia’s okay…” Asra murmured.

“I told you I’ll go back and check.”

“But...people saw us leaving Lucio’s wing. If something happened to him...they might suspect us.”

“They won’t.”

Brow furrowed, Asra peered up at his friend’s hulking back. “How can you be so sure?”

“They won’t remember me. That was my bargain.”

“What do you mean they won’t remember you?” He hurried his stride to match Muriel's, and worriedly he stroked through Tytos’s hair.

“Like a forgetfulness spell, but stronger." Muriel carried on, "more potent. No one will remember me now. I’ll finally have peace.”

“Muriel…” Asra began sadly, “what did you sacrifice for it?”

“In order to be forgotten, I can never forget. A small price to pay.”

They walked on in silence, each of them conjuring up a light within their palms to guide their way through the pitch black of the forest. “...will I forget you?” Asra asked.

Muriel glanced over his shoulder at him, the light from their orbs casting him in icy slivers and hooding his eyes in shadow. Even so, a reluctant smile played about Muriel’s mouth. “No.” He said simply.

Asra wanted to berate him for such a choice, for in his mind being forgotten by humanity seemed no less than a curse. But he watched Tytos’s sleeping face, and swallowed down his complaints. _Everyone has something or someone they’d do anything for._ They reached the outstreets of Vesuvia after a half hours walk. It was empty and silent as a ghost-town, for nearly all the populace had joined the Masquerade. Asra was grateful for this; many of their neighbors had known that Tytos had died of the plague, had even given Asra their condolences. He did not know how on earth he could explain to them that Tytos was now here, alive and whole. A shiver wound up his spine as Muriel’s voice echoed through his mind, _that might not even be him._ He forced the thought down. This was absolutely Tytos. He would have known his eyes anywhere. _But will he be_ himself? _What if something’s gone wrong and he--he’s just a shadow of himself? What if I retrieved his body, but his soul is empty?_ He gulped, eyes welling. He dragged his hand across them and then nearly smacked into Muriel.

The Shop loomed before them, and a strange hesitancy shivered like ice through Asra’s heart. This had been home, and it had been his workshop throughout his obsessive quest to discover some way to bring Tytos back. And now here he was. He could lay him down in their bed. But would it be the same as it had been, a year ago? What did death and retrieval do to the mortal mind? Could the shop trigger memories or emotions in Tytos that he could not yet processes? He placed a hand upon the solid oak door and undid the wards he’d placed upon it. The lock clicked open and he stepped over the threshold. Muriel ducked beneath the frame, still holding Tytos to his chest. It was silent and expectant within, as if all of Tytos’s old belongings were resonating at his sudden presence, and this gave Asra some hope; objects identified strongly with their owner, and did not respond to the touch of a stranger. _So this really is Tytos then--our home knows it._

He led Muriel past the shop’s display counter and through the curtain that blocked the restroom and stairs to the upper level from view. Muriel creaked up the narrow flight, hardly able to squeeze his shoulders between the earthen walls.

Upon entering their living quarters, Asra sent his orb of light into the room’s overhead lantern and it danced like a flame within it. Muriel had never been here; he had found it too agonizingly personal a space to enter, to see the lives that Asra and Tytos had shared. It was small and homey, cluttered with books and scrolls, plants, sacred stones, and lanterns of patterned glass in a rainbow of colors. A bed covered in a patchwork quilt and multiple pillows sat beneath the furthest window and Muriel carefully lay Tytos upon it. Asra rushed to Tytos’s side, one hand upon his shoulder, and the other lightly tracing the face that he had missed so desperately.

Muriel stood and awkwardly straightened, averting his eyes from such intimacy. It was clear that he did not want to spend any more time near this person who had been Tytos. “I’ll go back now and check on the others,” he announced and in the same breath he turned and headed for the door.

“Muriel, thank you. Be careful.” Asra called softly at his retreating back.

Muriel paused, looked back at him and said in a warning, “you be careful too, Asra.”

Asra listened to his retreating footsteps and the closing of the front door, and turned his attention back to Tytos. His face softened as he studied him. He was just as he remembered; a slightly long face, heavy lidded eyes, arched brows as if he were always on the verge of telling a secret, even in his sleep. _I wonder if…?_

He slowly drew Tytos’s left arm out from beneath his wrap. It took only seconds for him to find the thin beige scar that he’d gotten from a broken specimen jar some five years ago. His heart leapt. That had not changed. He pulled the wrap carefully away from his chest. There were was the small dark mole just above Tytos’s right nipple; the one they’d always joked was actually a secret third nipple. Asra breathed a laugh through his nose, tears welling in his eyes as he shook his head, beaming. “It r-really is you.” He cried as softly as he could, in gratitude and wonder. Then he removed his wrap from him and hung it up, carefully pulled the blankets out from under him, and tucked him in.

Normally he would have joined him, but it felt too strange, too invasive to do such a thing now; though his body was clearly the same, he had no idea if the Tytos who would awaken would be the same man who had loved him.

_I’ll just have to keep hoping._

He lay out upon the quilts, dimming his orb of light until only the barest curves of Tytos’s face could be seen. He stroked his face, smiling sadly to himself. “No matter what happens from here, Tytos, I love you. I’ll always love you.”


	2. Waking

Sunlight streamed into eyes long used to unseeing darkness, to nonbeing, and the expansive warmth of the beam of light fluttered his eyelids open. Tytos quietly breathed in the new morning, reveling in the cool air that expanded his lungs. The quality of the light fascinated him and he did not dare to move, for fear that it might vanish; it dilated him, moving him into a deeper realm of being. Colors existed in a kaleidoscope of newness, pure and uninhibited by language or meaning. Ornaments hung from a space nearby, humming and chiming lightly in the bay-breeze, glistening like flaming coral, molten and waxy; shimmering like sunlight on an opal sea; flickering like emerald leaves against a washed sky. He had no words to make such comparisons--he could only feel the colors, bone deep.

Sounds from beyond his limited existence joined the colors; the far off breathing of the ocean; the slivering, mournful cry of a gull that would have jolted him upright had he not been too entranced to move. Voices of the waking townsfolk started here and there like jumbles of half-remembered music. Staccato bursts of conversation filled him with joy; childish laughter moved his mouth into a mindless smile.

He wanted to see the voices, and especially to see the gull that had uttered that piercing cry. He wanted to touch the chimes that sang in many voices from the window just above his bedside. The thought left his mind, and his body obeyed. A patchwork quilt fell lightly from his chest into his lap as he sat up, and for a moment the texture and frayed threads entirely diverted him. He ran his hands over the fabric and the connection was made; he stared at his hands in wonder, and at his stomach which had felt the blanket fall from him; these feelings had happened to _him--_ whoever and whatever he might be. He could feel. He was a being.

He stood, and swayed as the soles of his feet settled against the old wooden floor. He ran his toes back and forth against the smooth texture, and again he smiled. When he looked about himself, he was startled to find that the scene that met his eyes had changed. Direction entered his mind. He was above. The voices were below.

Like a man in a trance, his feet carried him to the window, and his outstretched fingers nudged against a hanging chime. It was cool against him, so smooth that his finger nearly slid from it. Color and texture tangled in his mind. The yellow light of the outside was warm. The greens and oranges of the chime were cold and slick. Yet the blanket had been warm and yielding, and full of all of those colors. And so he drew the correlation that color and texture were not dependent upon one another. After several minutes of studying the wavering chimes, his eyes slid out into a vastness that stunned him. Sky opened up above him, wispy cotton clouds drifting in purples and blues edged with gold; triangles and the flat squares of rooftops fluttered with carpets, shone with clay tiles. Perched upon white-spattered roof-edges were wondrous beings--moon-white and storm grey, with shining dagger bills as yellow as the sun. Long, sharp wings unfolded from silvery sides, and again that mournful cry burst forth as gull after gull lifted off into the air. Instinctual joy sparked through Tytos, and a wordless sound leapt from him as he leaned far out of the window, utterly amazed. The birds spiraled weightlessly up and up until Tytos thought they may touch the golden sun. Excitement billowed within him until he felt that he may untether from the ground and float after them. A snatch of laughter tore his eyes from the sky. The solid mass of the land of Vesuvia was equally overwhelming.    

Building after building rose like giant steps from the bay up the mountainous flanks of Vesuvia. Clothing fluttered and flapped from lines strung between them. Trees whispered, glowing a brilliant, luminous green in the rising sun, bushes flowered from earthen pots and from little patchwork yards. Awnings billowed, oxen pulled groaning carts, dogs snuffed, and there, among all of them, were people.

Tytos gaped at them. He understood, intuitively, that the part of him that felt was the same as these beings striding around at their ease. He watched a woman hand over a few coins to another, and then pocket something small and shining. Tytos looked to his own hand, tried to mimic the motion. To his delight, he was quite capable of it. Eagerly, he looked again. There was a man running hands through long shining hair, smoothing it back from his face. He tried the same, and while his hand completed the movement, he was somewhat taken aback to find that his hair was not nearly so long. So it went, his eyes jumping from person to person, miming and delighting in the body that did as he asked of it.

* * *

Asra stirred at a wordless sound and for a moment he squeezed his eyes shut against the burgeoning sun. The cries of gulls and peals of laughter met his ears, though he could hardly rouse himself. He felt leaden, incredibly exhausted, and for a moment he could not quite remember why.

_Tytos._

The memory of the night before crackled through him like like a bolt of lightning and he jolted up from bed with wide eyes. For a wild moment he was torn between utter relief and cringing embarrassment; the laughter he’d heard suddenly made sense. Tytos was standing naked before the window, in full view of the street below. Even so, Asra’s heart leapt. He was there. The love of his life was actually, really there.

He stood from bed and approached him softly, gently, unsure of how Tytos might react to existing once again--if he would be confused, or frightened, perhaps even unhinged. He curled fingers about his upper arm, slowly turning him away from the window, much to the dismay of the small crowd that had gathered, giggling, below. Asra pulled the curtain across the window and stared silently up at Tytos, into brown eyes that nearly reduced him to tears.

“Tytos...you...you must have so many questions.” He began hesitantly.

His voice washed over Tytos without much reaction, and Asra figured that he must be as lost for words as he was.

“I know it must be strange. I--I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. Oh, uh...here, put this on, okay? We don’t want everyone in Vesuvia to see you naked. Unless you want them to.” He winked, trying to lighten his own awkwardness and also hoping to see that dashing smile cross Tytos’s face again. Tytos did not smile--instead he was focused upon Asra with the same uncomprehending joy that the gulls had brought about in him. Asra blushed at the open wonder shining in his eyes, and moved hastily towards a low chest opposite their bed, and from it he pulled a long white nightshirt.

“Here you go.”

He held the nightshirt out to Tytos. Tytos did not immediately move to take it. Instead he stared innocently at it as if he’d never seen such a thing, and worry flitted across Asra’s heart. “I mean...it _is_ hot out.” He backpedaled. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. But you shouldn’t encourage them.” He tossed his head back towards the street with a smile that quickly faltered. He took a step closer, his eyes roving over him with concern. “Are you feeling okay? You’re not running a fever or anything, are you?”

Asra placed the back of his hand against Tytos’s forehead, thrilling at their proximity yet dreading to find the heat of plague-fever. There was nothing, only the usual warmth of a healthy body. Tytos, however, marveled at this light touch. It was as if all the new colors and sounds and textures had condensed into something magical, something overwhelmingly elemental that pulled at a soul he did not yet understand. He knew only that he did not want that sensation to cease. Moisture gathered in his eyes. His lips parted, for he felt with sudden urgency that there was something that he _must_ say to this person, and that words could convey his meaning; yet they swirled about his skull like a typhoon, meaning lost in the cacophony. His gaze dropped, the new sensations of disappointment and frustration rising like bile within him.

“Tytos?” Asra asked, his eyes tight upon him. The magician averted his eyes for a fraction of a second, yet it could not mask the fear wakening within him.Asra shivered and swallowed it down; he would not allow his emotions to affect Tytos, no matter how much it pained him. With a wan smile, he shook open Tytos’s nightshirt and, reaching, he pulled it over his head. “There.” He delicately smoothed out the wrinkles and took his hand and again, Tytos mutely thrilled at the touch. He found himself pulled so that he was sitting beside him upon the bed.

Asra held a careful silence, momentarily overwhelmed to be sitting with him on a beautiful morning, as they had done long ago. “What’s it like?” he asked quietly, unable to meet his eyes.

Again, Tytos did not answer. The sound of that voice was hypnotic, like a half-forgotten song heard in another life. He could not understand, yet it soothed him as a wave soothed the shore.

Asra swallowed at his stretching silence and finally met his eyes. The naked vulnerability swimming within those amethyst pools would have stricken Tytos mute, had his voice and wits not already abandoned him. The hand resting near his thigh was trembling. “Tytos...do you remember me?”

Uncomprehending, Tytos only looked at him, certain that something was expected of him, yet unable to comply. It distressed him, yet those eyes kept him from panic as his mind raced through all that he had thus far experienced.

Asra leaned in closer with a shallow breath. “Tytos?”

Tytos glanced away, studying the slanting ray of sunlight as it moved slowly across the floor, catching motes like a spider’s web. A hand landed on his shoulder, fingers desperately tight.

“ _Tytos?”_ Asra’s voice broke. “Hey,” he fell to his knees before him, his face stricken, “you remember me, right? You remember my name? Do you remember _your_ name?”

Tytos swallowed, words lighting up here and there as if dragged from an impenetrable haze. Understanding was so close, yet it darted away each time he grasped for it. Something about the repetition of the word _Tytos_ sent his heart racing. But he didn’t know _why._

“Do you remember _anything?”_ Asra's lovely face cracked with grief as he took Tytos's hand between his own, rubbing it as if he could force recognition back into him. _Something went wrong, something went wrong!_ his heart screamed and for a moment he could not speak. Muriel's voice echoed through his mind. _That thing might not even be him._  Tears gathered, his chest tightening against a wracking sob. But he choked it back, reciting the promise he’d made to himself only minutes before: _I won’t let my emotions affect him._

“I--I’ll get you some water, Tytos. You must be thirsty.” He stood, squeezing his hand with a smile that threatened to come apart at the seams. Then he hurried to the door of their little room. He shut it behind him and creaked down the narrow flight of stairs to the main floor of the shop. He stood for a moment like a lost child, small and dim, his eyes darting about the darkened, shuttered interior.

Tytos was back. But he was not home.

Asra sucked in a tight breath and brought a hand to his eyes. Grief crushed him then and he slid to the floor, his back pressed up against the display counter as he sobbed. The one person that he wanted to hold him, who could possibly make this better, was the one person who would not understand. Who did not even know who he was. He let it come, wave after wave. He knew by now that it was unhealthy to keep his emotions at bay; instead he let them run their course without judgement and without wallowing. And it would be far too easy to wallow, for already he could feel the self-pity and rage building within him, demanding some sort of explanation from the universe. Hadn’t he suffered enough? Hadn’t _Tytos_ suffered enough? And now _this?!_ It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t--he caught himself, pulling out of that self-defeating spiral. Then he dragged a hand across his eyes and nose, grabbed a mug off the counter and filled it in the bathroom sink with a shaking hand. He gripped the edges of the cool porcelain as the water flowed, consciously slowing his breathing and centering himself, listening to the water.

Water magic was his specialty, his natural inclination. At the mere sound or sight of it, he could be lulled into a meditative state that on its own often brought him to his gateway of the Arcana. Water had been his first teacher. He had learned from the element that there was great virtue to living as water; be fluid, unpredictable, do not stagnate, give life to those around you, crash with force if you must, move, even in your depths.

He would keep moving. He had no other choice.

 _I have him. There’s no doubt that’s his body. I just need to find some way to bring him_ home _to it._ He shut the flow off and nodded to himself in the darkness. This was a huge, heart-breaking setback, there was no denying it. But like water caught behind a dam, it would only make him more powerful; and someway, _somehow,_ he would find a way past or _through._  Death had not defeated him. This wouldn’t either.

_I will bring him back._

With a deep breath, he started back upstairs. Opening the door to their room, Asra found Tytos standing near the long picture window that looked out towards the bay, his white nightshirt fairly glowing in the sunlight. The deep sill had been lined with herbs and other plants, a luminous tower of selenite, a flashing quartz crystal, and a mess of books.

Asra gasped.

Amidst all that he might have chosen, Tytos had picked from the sill the potted succulent that Asra had brought him from one of his desert wanderings, a plant that Tytos had caredfully tended in his earlier life. It was not that fact alone that had halted Asra in midstep--it was the way that he was looking at it. Radiant care and tenderness bloomed from him as he touched the thick, waxy leaves, as if nothing could have pleased him more than that plant, and the love that it had contained; as if some deep part of him understood what his mind did not. _If something seems significant, it_ is _significant._ Tytos’s eyes slid from the succulent to Asra, and he was once again lost in that shade of purple. Asra found himself now the focus of that same radiating tenderness. A smile started on Tytos’s lips.

Gratitude welled within Asra’s chest, and he closed his brimming eyes. _He’s still in there, somewhere._ He lifted the cup before Tytos’s face.

“You need some water.”

Distracted by the proximity of the mug, Tytos’s eyes slid to it. The mirror surface of the water delighted him, and his smile stretched as he caught a hazing glimpse of his own face. Amazed, he looked again to Asra, as if for confirmation of the wonderous fact that he possessed a face and expressions.

Asra understood suddenly what had caught his attention. He chuckled, bashfully. “That’s you, Tytos. Only you look better than that ripply version, trust me.”

Tytos touched his nose, fascinated as his reflection did the same, his gleeful eyes jumping again to Asra. He then touched his mouth, tracing his lips and tapping a tooth. He pressed over his eyes and rested a hand atop his hair. The barest ghost of a laugh passed his lips and to Asra, there had never been a lovelier sound. It softened the edges of his dismay and grief. “If you like this, I’ll grab the mirror out of our chest. But first, here,” he took one of Tytos’s hands and placed it on the mug, and layered his own on top of it. “Like this.” Slowly, he tilted it to his lips.

Tytos jolted at the cool wetness against his mouth and then, with an encouraging look from Asra, he swallowed. The water sluiced down his throat like ice. He loved it. He drained the mug and then finished with a joyful expression.

Asra beamed at him, though sadness still tinged his eyes.

_Tytos, my love...there’s so much for you to discover._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tytos is awake! That poor boy. He just wants a pet seagull and some pumpkin bread. No wait...he doesn't even know he likes bread (or that seagulls would steal his bread!). Asra needs a hug asap! If you're interested in this sort of thing, the song that inspired how I wrote Asra's grief is called "Instinct" by Brother Hill--it also plays through my head when I imagine how he must've felt after we kicked the bucket. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think! Comments make my day, and it's always nice to hear from other Arcana fans. :) 
> 
> -Bluestem

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not sure how long this is going to end up being. Things may change here and there as we learn more about what happened to our characters. I love Asra so damn much. Please let me know what you think! Comments make my day! :)  
> Bluestem


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